


Watching the surface

by avaloncat555



Category: Den lille Havfrue | The Little Mermaid - Hans Christian Andersen, Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work, The Little Mermaid - All Media Types
Genre: Ableist Language, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Minor Character(s), Multi, Muteness, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 08:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17056337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avaloncat555/pseuds/avaloncat555
Summary: Several momentary looks at silent girl who showed up at castle one day.(She gave so much, wanted so much-perhaps she will someday become something more).





	Watching the surface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redlipstickkisses (owldork1998)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owldork1998/gifts).



> Present for my awesome friend Kai, about various viewpoints from various people around castle on Little Mermaid. Thank you for being amazing.

_They have no soul._

_Those are things that are same for them all. They  (not) exist outside of Creation. They don’t, can’t lie. And they have no soul. All things mortal and divine do-   microbes and men and dust, angels and devils and spirits, all of them possess soul, for it is foundation of all, of every matter and idea and power. But fair folk have no soul,  just as they know neither good or evil, and can’t truly possess thoughts or feel, and when they are lost and gone nothing remains behind, not a trace, not a ghost. Gone, as if they have never existed._

_They have no species, no races, as some believe. Huldra or redcap, matter of fashion and convenience. For bodies are just  forms they take sometimes, to imitate living, to converse with them. Just a play, the pretend, matching bits and pieces and inventing stories to try to fit in. But they can’t, for no matter the form, beast or man or corpse or monster, they will be beautiful and terrible beyond comprehension, immortal, twisting world around them with their presence until reality bleeds. Even if they take form of plain, forgettable human, their eternal essence remains and shines through, inviting wonder and fear,  madness and worship.  Even a form of plague ridden horse would attract adoration and terror of millions, and no matter what they do they can’t be cut, broken, harmed, killed, they can’t fall sick or bleed._

_And world notices them, oh it does.  Of magic they are, and world bends and breaks at their word, their step. Their touch brings untold pain and heals deadly wounds. Their  gaze reveals truths you are desperate for and primordial horrors none should witness. Their songs make mothers kill their children and harvests bloom enough to feed Earth thrice over. Their laughter melts mountains and saves lives of poor. They are always followed by miracles and legends, and no matter how much they try they cannot help but stand  out in history, just as they cannot relate to men, just as they cannot be wicked or good, just as they cannot be known as alien and strange power by whole reality, just as they cannot hide their empty eyes._

_Deep below waves and foam, a fey thing wonders what it would be like to be mortal._

* * *

 

The dog finds her.

The summer palace is near sea, or as near as it is possible to be without being  endangered, for sea is harsh and treacherous mistress, who takes and gives randomly. But dog loves it, just as his master loves it, though it tried to take him away before ( poor puppy was inconsolable for weeks, until his human finally came back home, and it leapt in his arms and lapped at his face for almost a hour). He doesn’t, because his human loves him, and when he has time takes him down to beach, to play and laugh with other dogs and other friends, even if their fur and shoes get soggy.

And because he was dog, and therefore much better suited for living real life than humans (whom he loved dearly, but  couldn’t deny to be very silly and helpless on their own and clueless without help), and he smells sweat and skin, smells seaweed and salt, blood and spit, and hears breathing of sleeper, and he is a dog, a good boy, the best boy, so he runs and leads his dumb, perfect humans, and so do other gods, for he is pack leader, as his human is prince ( for all dogs and humans are reflections of each other) until they find girl on a beach.

She is, they will say later, young and pretty, but dogs don’t know that, just as they don’t care for fact that she is nude, just that she is laid out in uncomfortable position, head pressing on limb, in way that will make her neck ache and flesh numb and tense. A sand has work it’s way between her fingers and hairs, and it will be struggle to wash it off all, especially tiny pieces of stones stack to her chick and lips, the sand below fingernails. Her cheeks are ruddy, and there are bruised on her body, but not enough injuries for somebody to be endangered from shipwreck. Her skin is wrinkled, and shivers from cold, and her legs are positioned in such way that they will surely ache.

They bark and scream, because they are good boys, best boys, and they know that girl needs clothes ( for humans are silly and unlucky and as with them all fur over her hair and arms is far too rare to protect her), and his humans answers, takes her slight body in arms and carries her, and none notice how sea tries to drag itself towards her, how it tries to reach out and pull her back home.

Later, when she wakes up, she stays, and dog is happy for it. He doesn’t understand why humans call her silent and mute- she doesn’t make complicated sounds they do, but she understands dogs and birds and worms and even trees perfectly. She laughs at their jokes and nods at their complaints about humanity.  She can chat with them for hours, and find them in second when they hide. Fishes are her favorites, however. She can converse for them until she falls asleep.

There are days when he can speak with her for what seems like eternity, as they trade frustrations about humanity and devise ways to make his human laugh. When he delights in seeing how hopeless she is when it comes to her own body and giving her lessons, and when she teaches him things he never heard of.

And days when he hides away, unable to pass shiver that follows her empty, soulless gaze.

Cats know her better. Cats know much, if not all, and though some can be silly and foolish and honest and light-hearted, all of them have nose for mystery and magic and otherworldliness. They flock to her, follow her for days, then run and hide. They know very well what she is, and that beckons them, and makes them tremble, for curiosity has killed the cat and satisfaction brought it back- cats are always drawn to magic, and know what risks it poses.

‘’She seems very nice.’’ He says once, because dogs rarely have bad word for anybody.

‘’She is fool who mutilated herself to become something ordinary, replaceable and meaningless, whereas she was once incredible, great and fantastic.’’ Answers the cat, for though there are as many sorts of cats as there are men, rare is one who would lessen themselves by chiseling away their powers and forms, especially for sake of something worthless and boring.

‘’’She seems to love my human.’’ Because humans and dogs have different  rules and rites, but love is the same, no matter the form. A gleam in eye, care in movement, softness in laughter, a joy that fills your veins on sight of them, a  quiet and burning desire to make them happy and safe.

‘’She has no idea what love is at all, and tries to play at something she has no idea about.’’ Cats know love too, though it may often be more selective and private, harder given, and they see how girl who was once something so much _more_ acts, weaving her act from observation and stories and hearsay.

‘’I think it is brave  and wonderful that she wants to be like us.’’ Dogs are blissful and honest beings, with no lofty aspirations  and grand ideas. They have no needs beyond enough of food and family and free fields, and like all men they would say girl’s wish to abandon mystery and eldritch and deceptive debts to become mundane and mortal and loving is reasonable and beautiful.

‘’She hungers for what she can never have, and seeks to gain what none of her kind ever possessed, because eternity isn’t enough for her.’’ Cat says with mixture of admiration and disgust,  because what girl desires is abomination she masks for love, and yet it is ambition that makes most of her kind pale in comparison to weight of her goals.

* * *

 

The physician had never met such cheerful shipwreck survivor.

By pure miracle, girl suffered no injuries beside some rare bruise, nor did she show any mental traumas. She slept peacefully, as if she had never done so before, and when she woke there was no panic, but instead curiosity. She looked at her own body, at bed, at him and maids and curtains, as if grasping world around her for first time.

There were complications that he couldn’t solve. Girl was completely mute, and her tongue appeared to bear marks of knife. He wasn’t sure how that could be accomplished- it was covered in old, white and dry scars, but rest of her mouth was untouched. And her feet appeared to be very sensitive, to point where if she walked for too long they would bleed. Yet she smiles as he attends her, and thanks him, and wipes away blood ( she gives it to sea, for she isn’t sure how it would command her, but she won’t risk it).

She is always happy. When she is riding and sleeping, when she comes down with cold, when she cuts herself on a shard of glass.  Fragment lodges itself deep in her palm, fever runs hot and sweat cold and yet she laughs and remains calm. There is no fear in her, not at all, as if God missed to put it in when he made her. Like a child who discovered something new, or better yet, a scientist                    ( ridiculous comparison to him, and she rolls her new mortal eyes at stupidity of humans and their meaningless, cruel  separations ) as he makes newest discovery.  It makes him wonder, were she to be beheaded, wouldn’t she greet death with smile and dance.

And makes him ask, what sort of life did she escape?

* * *

 

Priests are curious about her.

Christian  and pagan alike, for she wanders through both.  She walks through temples, and depending on day there is wariness and confusion, as if she is intruder upon foreign and unwelcoming territory, and on others she is giddy and expectant, trying to learn something more.  She listens to songs and watches rituals, with hungry curiosity inside. She never participates, but priests hear that she asks for and reads both Holy Book and Eddas, digs out ancient prayers of all faiths from library, remembers each rule of each temple.

She gasps when she hears of love and blessings of gods, and nods comfortably when she reads of their commands and punishments ( the fair folk have no gods, but their Kings and Queens, to whom all must bow, but who can be overthrown and replaced, but for Monarch, to whom shrines are built in desperate plea to be left alone). Priests urge prince to have her finally choose, for they are insulted by how she flits between temples, and outraged by how she never prays, yet delighted by way she soaks up all their lectures and lessons, and intrigued by barely-disguised knowledge that passes over her face when she reads words of gods, as if she might have heard them a long ago...

Some tut their fingers and speak harshly about her behavior, but sailors and fishermen, who keep their own, not spoken about and formally recognized practice, cobbled together from superstitions and prayers to anybody who may be listening and bribes to sea and spirits, notice that each day she brings offering to Sea King, and that women who smile on her find their husbands returned safe after sea storm.

* * *

 

Gertrude doesn’t like it one bit.

Now to be fair, Gertrude doesn’t like many things, because she is human and woman who lived to her  seventies and **still** working as maid, but this is something she especially doesn’t like.

Gertrude has seen many things she would like to forget but won’t because they might be useful during her work in palace, and she is seventy year old woman and ahs four daughters, three sisters and quite a band of nieces and granddaughters, and she doesn’t like that girl is behaving so immodestly and walking around like madwoman and not going to Church at right time and listening in on servants and paying attention ( how are you supposed to spy and betray royal family when somebody in their company actually pays attention to you)?

And she doesn’t like that mute, foreigner girl sleeps on pillows like dog in front of prince’s chambers. She knows what happens when helpless girl catches eye of nobleman, and prince is nice but you never know, and girl is offering herself on platter. They tried, the servants and prince both, to convince her to get bed, but she would rage and rip herself from their grasp like a shark, and some claim she bit off one guard’s fingers, and she cleans it all herself which also isn’t proper, so they leave her be.

Still, Gertrude prepares knife and bandages, just in case some care and gelding is necessary.

* * *

 

Marianne can’t believe how nobody noticed.  The girl is obvious.

But then, Marianne has experience with hiding  attraction because of consequences that would follow. Not all are free to love openly, or even show that they can.  It is different reasons, different manifestations,  but sorrow and hatred that follow are same. Two women, and lonely mute foreigner with a nobleman.

In his place, Marianne would accept her in heartbeat. She would accept girl’s honeyed hair, filled with locks and braids and roses. She would accept her sun-kissed skin,  taut lines of muscle brought by swimming,  pouty lips and  short stature. She would accept her giggles, and eternal cheeriness, and way she clapped delightedly once Marianne’s troupe finished their dance. She would accept speed with which girl ran up the stairs in her new trousers,  joy with which she rode her horse, the wink she gave Marianne and that barmaid when she caught them.

(She would not, however, accept her empty eyes.)

Some of Marianne’s troupe were jealous. Marianne didn’t see reason, when they gathered more public and yet received full pay whenever she joined them. But then Marianne never wanted to be a star, to be venerated, written down in history, envied by all colleagues. So she could just watch and cry tears of wonder as girl danced, with unmatched grace and energy, with strength that made whole troupe together pale in comparison, with wilderness and finesse that were unmatched by any dancer she knew. Girl jumped and run, bent and twirled, as if her body was made from mist and water, with strength of tidal wave and delicacy of sea foam. She danced for hours, in perfectly executed movements that were completely unplanned, and Marianne could only barely hold together screams as blood pooled through soles, as girl resisted dancers, guards, prince himself tried to restrain her. She slipped through their fingers like water, and threw them away with power of storm.

When watching her, when watching fear and shame in eyes of all other dancers, Marianne wanted to swoop in and hold her close, make her stop with her words, take her somewhere far far away from opulent palaces and ashes of dreams, from nobles who saw nothing and it was better that way and troupes of girls who wanted to be artists because they danced well on village fairs and saw how empty and hopeless their wishes were, to some forgotten plain far away from sea and dark woods, in simple village where there are no politics or pretentious arts or philosophical debates, only summer lull and winter worry over food, just two spinsters eating mundane food and sleeping in boring beds, living safe, unremarkable lives of boring comfort and ordinary joys.

But she wouldn’t stand that, Marianne knows. She sees it in girl’s movements, in her skill and strength, in giggle that escapes her mouth as she bleeds, same thing she saw with those ancient ballet teachers from Old World, those old limping women with hearts of ice and gazes of steel, who would call seasoned generals soft, women who had no friends or kin to call their own because that was distraction, who tore their own muscles apart for sake of art and fame, who believed that girl  who wasn’t willing to dance naked during blizzard in middle of raging battlefield for days and would flinch if ordered to murder newborn wasn’t fit to be background dancer.

She sees that, and more. his girl isn’t content to be star, venerated and remembered  and envied,  adored from far and never truly known and  sleeping two hours and eating bread and water, living for sake of those nights when she is out and dancing. She wants to be Sun,  to shine and burn and be begged for, for worlds and calendars to revolve around her, for  next best to be a Moon,  pale reflection of her glory, for all others to be stars, tiny and weak and visible only when she is gone and unrecognizable from each other. Marianne wouldn’t, couldn’t change her, and both of them would only be hurt in attempt.

She leaves when troupe moves on, and dreams of her simple cottage, and only sometimes tells children who visit two sweet spinsters up hill of great beauty and skill she witnessed,  in whispered tones of adoration and fear, nostalgia and disbelief, wonder and disgust, and knows girl would have preferred that to being held and kissed and called by sweet names in life that would be shared.

* * *

 

_‘’Are you sure you want this?’’ Asked the Sea Witch, who was once a Goddess, and now remained in traces of fairy tales, and yet her power was still as great and deep and ancient, just as much as power of God mortal prince bowed to. Her iron teeth were still  sharper then truth and her hunger deeper then Abyss, and all things, whether they were mortal or divine, of Forest or sea, whether they came to bottom of sea ( a true one, of which mortal world was just a shadow), or to hut on chicken legs._

_‘’Of course.’’ Answered a tiny fae, a tiny creature that could barely bind single ocean to her will, that was a princess of harmless clan loitering about edges of Faerie and human world,  being younger then even Sun. A creature that seemed to be forged from water and flame and flowers, all red and white and blue, trembling before ancient power that could have unmade all worlds in but a whimsy. Because that was price of her desire._

_‘’If you are sure, the I shall not deny you.’’ Fey were almost all powerful, and so limitations were both pain and reward. What Sea Witch would do wasn’t something as simple as cutting away tongue, as injuring body. She would take away means of making sound from mermaid forever , make it utterly impossible for her, whose song could charm armies, who spent ages perfecting her voice, and fill it up with pain that would never leave, never stop. All for sake of fallible, limited body that couldn’t change or bend world to it’s whims or blind with splendor. Hardly a fair bargain._

_‘’I am grateful to you, Mistress.’’ She was Old Grandmother, Three Who Are One, Iron Teeth and Bony Legs, dread and horror of every child, divine or mortal. And yet she was still far kinder then Faerie’s Monarchs would ever be._

* * *

 

He wanted her.

It didn’t matter that he didn’t know her name, her favorite dish, her best beloved dance. That he didn’t know which mountain she climbed to most often, how long she could stand to be under water, which dress was most comfortable to her.  He didn’t know why she loved red roses,  or laughed as she felt sun caress her.

He likes her face, and lusts after her body, and thinks her dance is nice, and doesn’t mind blood that pools from her steps. She has nobody, and prince would never take her for concubine, and a mute girl can’t say no, can she, a foreigner can’t refuse any security, and girl should accept for husband first man that desires her.

Still, it would be crass to do so openly. So when after months of flattery she starts avoiding him, he follows her under cover of night to beach, where water pools around her ankles.  He comes to her with smile, with lust flaming in eyes, and he cannot begin to imagine things she still knows, for mind within is not human, cannot imagine things she can speak to elements, bonds she maintained.

He comes closer, and sea reaches out.

* * *

 

The assassin dies.

It isn’t a surprise. Nobles love their games, guards and killers, and deaths are many in this business. Flip a coin, who dies, a target, a hitman, a bodyguard, but  never the boss, no. So he shouldn’t be so shocked, for even the best plan can fail, and he was never much of planner, more like refined thug who knew his way with knife.

Still, he didn’t expect it to end exactly like this. Prince had went on hunt, and gotten lost in forest (helpful  and polite aid of spies of relative of his employer), only that strange girl accompanying him. So when prince got down from horse, he expected it to be quick, a knife to make it as if he was speared by boar, a girl mute and catatonic, unable to say anything. Maybe some struggle from prince who, unused to real work and fight, would soon fail.

But he didn’t expect the girl to notice him. To wait, and jump, get a branch from dirt and beat him, fight as vicious, hungry shark. Beat him with stone and wood until he cried.

To take knife, and press it into his throat, slowly, and smile as it tears through skin and bone, as blood pours  over her  hands.

* * *

 

Fishermen don’t really believe in King of the Sea, honestly. They just like to be careful.

The King of Sea is an old tale, one of those that hasn’t been recorded in books for more then fifty years, but ahs been spoken and passed from mouth to mouth for thousands. People say it is just a fairy tale, just a story for children, and carefully leave out offering with no thought given.

He is not a god, to be clear. There are no temples, no myths, no creed.  Only few folktales, about men returning women with tales of fish and voices of angels to sea after they got caught in nets and receiving chests of ancient, sunken treasures, of women bringing back their families from depths and watery grave after winning a riddle game, of ships sunken in a moment after foolish captain proclaimed he will conquer the sea, of children saved from drowning by barking dogs ( they mean no ill, the folk of sea, but they forget humans need air, they just want to take them down and dance).

Still, they leave offerings at cliffs, of food and cloth and even sometimes money and jewelry. Some do it by habit, others by fear, third yet out of need for something to believe in. How much it works is debatable, and priests of all kinds tend to raise eyebrows at mention of it, but tradition persists, because sailors live off superstitions.

The mute girl from palace knows that. It makes fishermen bit easier to get acclimated to her, for surely girl who runs over sand like that, and knows tales of King of Sea can’t be from much different country. Each day she comes to cliffs with new offering, and remains there for hours, after which she returns back to castle through village, smiling at children, helping the women, caring for old.

They quickly learn to be kind to her. When she comes smiling, the storm stops, and she wades into great waves without harm ( they claim that once, she dived and swam and came out of water utterly dry). The wind is sweet and gentle when she is content, and nets come full after a short time.

When she frowns, the sky darkens day after, and winds slaps those that laugh at her. The storms begin once a harsh word is uttered against her, and should somebody push her their nets will turn up empty. Once they chased her away, and for week she didn’t come, and for week nobody had any fish.

Once, a woman brought the girl cloth to cover herself when sun was scorching, and cooked her lunch. For three days did fish leap upon her son’s boat, and her husband, thought dead at sea, returned after three years of wandering on ships of people whose language he didn’t know, brought by strange tides. And when woman came upon shore to greet him, sea spat out delicious, expensive oysters, which people in castle loved much but rarely had chance to taste, and each one healed a sickness doctors had no cure for. And when she opened them, inside she found a numerous treasures, pearls and jewels, coins and patches of silk,  which returned to her after being stolen and brought curse upon thief.

Once, a man spat on her, called her mute cripple, told his children to get away from dumb girl. No fish came to his nets or nets of his brothers or eldest son, but waves rocked their boats, and when they borrowed food from others, it either turned rotten moment their fingers touched it, or brought illness and weakness after meal, and those who have been charitable found their nets torn and their boats smashed by waves. And when man went to fish himself, a great storm came upon him, and he would have drowned hadn’t girl cried out and threw lock of her hair into the sea. Only then did storm stop, and water brought him to her, and when he knelt and apologized did bad luck be gone from his house.

So they learned, better to offend king and queen then sea’s handmaiden.

* * *

 

The girl helped her most.

She is to be a bride, a queen, a proof of bargain. It is hard game to play, of diplomacy and intrigue and family, melding lies and truth until not even she knows which is which. Her husband’s kingdom and her father’s, each demanding proof of devotion and loyalty, each having subjects to feed,  each having courtiers watching her with cruel eyes and distrust.

Her husband to be is very lovely. He is her age, and handsome, and wise, and kind. They know each other, which is rare perk. She remembers finding him at beach, washed up by whim of sea and kindness of fate, dragging him to monastery, holding his hand through fever. She remembers speaking with him, reading his letters, and thinks she could learn to love him.

But it is still far too early,  far too early to discard grandeur and illusions of royal couple, to be just spouses, mundane and boring and normal, or as much as they can be. There are processions and celebrations first, masks to uphold, negotiations to finish. Girl and boy cannot exist for now, only future rulers, only prince and princess, and she can only dream of running away, of living in some mundane, simple cottage.

The silent girl is there to help her. She doesn’t care what language princess speaks, what colors she wears, that she doesn’t like national food, that she doesn’t sing well. The girl is kind and cheerful, combing her hair, bringing her better food, opening window for her, bringing her books and paper for drawing, listening to princess ramble about her horses and uncles and sisters.

The prince’s foundling arranges private dinner for princes and her betrothed, covers up for them when they sneak out,  helps princess practice her dance (for more often then not silent girl wears male clothing), tends her horse and keeps cats away from her.  She holds her in arms when nightmares overcome her, and showed her most beautiful trees in forest, and kindest servants and cruelest lords, and introduced her to various children around castle. She listened to princess’s worries, and assured her, and brought her medicine and caught her mother’s scarf when it fell in flame ( princess didn’t notice, that girl’s skin didn’t burn as it should have been, for it still remembered when girl laughed alongside water’s dreams).

One thing she regrets is never learning her name, so she might name her daughter after girl. After a woman who helped her so much, who was such dear friend, as if systems and rules that made up world meant nothing to her, who was kind without expecting nothing, who taught her not to fear boats and stood up for her when prince’s mother spoke a bad word about her, though it may have cost her roof over head, who was truest and best friend she ever had. And there are more she will find in coming days, and she will die and go to meet her husband as old woman who lived full and joyous life, surrounded by dozens of friends and relatives, and to be honest each one of them she knew better and longer then she did silent girl, and her emotions towards them were far deeper and warmer, but never again did she find such pure kindness and willingness to help, such honest altruism. Never again did she come upon girl willing to dance for hours, not to stop even as she bled, laughing as red followed her steps, as prince and princess and guards tried to restrain her but couldn’t, she was too strong too fast too graceful, she was a tide and she couldn’t be compelled.

And best she ever offered her was to be bridesmaid holding veil.

* * *

 

He dreams of that night.

He dreams of sea, angry and merciless, black as night, foam as white as heartless, distant stars, trashing him around, destroying mighty ship as if it was made of paper, tossing him around, his sailors screaming and their voice lost in cacophony of wind and thunder and he feels as if his skull might burst, salt sea forbidding him to breathe, throwing him around, and thousand cold hands and glinting teeth reach up and drag him down down down...

He dreams of darkness, and the chill that seeps into his very bones, hollowing him out from inside, and of blood running down from his very heart like a sauce from cooked pig, and everything smells of fish and salt and iron, and something pieces him, a stone that is iron knife that is a tooth of Goddess, and it tears through him, through body and mind, will and heart and soul, and life and power are drawn out of him and  miracle breaks, snap, and she is again...

He dreams of being in place between sea and land and sky and Heaven, as stars smile from above and sun giggles from horizon and moon laughs and twilight dances as sky and sea meld in one, and his bride is there with him, they hold hands as they walk through darkness and light, through wind and ocean, and being more beautiful then wildest dreams joins them, being of fire and water, of salt and blood,  and it kisses them on forehead, holds them, fills them up with brilliant glory...

They wake up at same time, and see in each other’s eyes they dreamed the same. They clothe and laugh and kiss each other, talk about honeymoon, but something bites at his mind, feeling that something strange and alien is missing, and  then they go to breakfast and she is isn’t there and he knows, somehow, he runs and searches but she is gone, she is nowhere, she is lost no no no...

He screams, and his bride and sea join him.

* * *

 

_She wanders all over world._

_She is shapeless and insignificant, a memory of being and echo of power that wanders over time and space, trying to do some small good in order to earn soul. Almost unnoticeable, free to be ended by smallest spirit or elemental, for her strength and form melted away like foam on sun, for such was price of Witch’s bargain. But she doesn’t despair, as human might, for she is given chance to earn  what none of her kind should even dream of, to attain soul and true existence, to ascend to that glorious world above stars, all in measly three centuries- a nothing to one of Fair Folk, even if there were none but wicked children in the world._

_Sometimes she wanders over to descendants of prince and princess, tries to ward off illness or misfortune or sorrow, because they are hers and she wants them happy, and she doesn’t reap debts of their family, which grow and grow, and will grow until she is finally gone or time ends. She travels, barred from afterlife where soulless cannot go, barred from Faerie where love and hopes like hers have no place. And as she travels, meets others like her, she changes. Some of it is planned and decided, other happens almost naturally, such that it might seem to resemble growth to untrained eye. She becomes bit less selfish in some aspects, and bit more in others, trying to find right balance for love, for that wonder of longing and caring that would produce such emotion._

_She doesn’t manage, but she learns desire, and that victory is enough for now._

_She travels over world and asks few who may see her, who possess True Sight what love is, trying to learn, to understand, to fill her mind with their words and analyze and comprehend them. So many answers, most she doesn’t understand, so many perspectives, and all of them may not be enough for her. But perhaps, she could help another of her kind, inspire them, guide them, revel in their success._

_‘’Love is truth. Love is when you see somebody at their worst, and when even at their best you remember they are human, remember that they are person. When you remember they exist as they are like, and love them for it.’’ Says the girl she guides through dark woods, fair almost like one of Folk, beloved by  dwarves as some sailors were by her own kind, hair like ebony, mouth like blood, skin like snow, running, always running._

_‘’Love is freedom.  Love is valuing other’s choices and asking for permission to join them in achieving their dreams, and love is what may uplift you from hardest shackles.’’ Says the girl cursed to be swan by day, mermaid blowing cool breeze on her feathers, girl cursed and bound in shape of bird by man who tries to claim her._

_‘’Love is choice.  Among  many other things. It is liking somebody then deciding to make sure they are happy, and content, and safe.’’ Says the ash woman, hood of darkness and cinders and shame drawn over face, as mermaid flees away, for better  no soul then that scarred, ruined, abominable fragment._

_( ‘’Love is root of all evil. It is disgusting , awful monster that cares nothing but for it’s lowly, base whims. It is horror that must be wholly executed so world would be pure and just again.’’ She doesn’t say, she holds her bitterness within, because she knows she ahs no right to talk like that, no matter how many wrongdoings she saw committed in name of love, how many sins were motivated by it, how many times were kindness and justice and equality rejected and universes doomed because one person cared for their loved ones more then then for all other lives together._

_‘’Love is excuse. Love is what drives weak, stupid and cowardly. Love is selfish.’’ She doesn’t say, just as she doesn’t say that she once loved, back when world was young and there were  more things in her heart then just bitterness and resignation and sorrow, that she loved like everybody else, and yet she denied it, denied Paradise, denied her happy ending, that she alone was mutilated and violated on altar of humanity for crimes she helped stop, because it was right, because they deserved chance, because it wasn’t right and it had to be stopped no matter the cost, and yet she was only one sacrificed, only one who denied love for sake of justice, and she doesn’t say._

_Because it wouldn’t be right, to speak like that.)_

_Rare are those of Folk who come to her. her family sometimes, and those curious to see what happened with her, and sometimes few who share her goal. With them she shares her experiences, her thoughts, her desire, and most back out or stare in confusion. But one comes, again and again, fae that seems to walk path of mermaid’s story, taking form of girl and living as human, fae who  made home in ocean then left it for land. They talk for ages, about what love is, all sorts of it, love of family and romance, of friendship and hobby, of goal  and yourself, of world, and debate how much fae would need to understand to gain soul, how to manage so. Soon mermaid grows close to fae, to her strange mixture of greed and selflessness, so much that she almost feels fear and sorrow when small fae is gone for time that seems big to humans but is actually tiny, and yet she still cries._

_Then one day, a fae returns to her, with eyes that will never again be empty._

**Author's Note:**

> Here! Sorry it is so short, thanks for reading hope you liked it please comment.  
> Can you catch references to original text?


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